


君の体温

by akaatsuki



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Porn with Feelings, enjoy! i cried writing this, no knotting tho. sorry no mpreg in my christian household
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-04 22:27:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15156965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaatsuki/pseuds/akaatsuki
Summary: “You can leave,” he says, hoarsely, his voice floating just above a whisper. But, somehow, Kuro hears it perfectly, and he moves closer, until he’s standing just outside the curtain. Kuro stares at the flat color for several moments, dazed, before words finally find their way to his lips again.“I don’twannaleave,” he murmurs.





	君の体温

**Author's Note:**

> baby's first nsfw fic............pls dont judge too harshly
> 
> i really love kurokei. this was only supposed to be like 2k words max but now it's 6k because of kurokei. they did this so you can blame them. 
> 
> god i am so sorry for this.

The situation was taking a drastic, downward spiral with each passing moment. 

The weight of the air feels as though it’s smothering him with its heat—like it’s some sort of thick fog bearing down on him, threatening to crush him beneath it. His uniform feels stifling, and when he reaches his hand out to press against the wall in an attempt to support his suddenly weak knees, he realizes that there’s a thin layer of moisture slicked between his palm and the paint of the wall.  _ Great. _ Frustrated with his lack of progress, a quiet groan slips past his lips as he forces himself to keep moving. The infirmary is practically right around the corner, and then he’ll be home free; there’s always spare suppressants kept there for unfortunate cases like himself, and if he can just manage to reach it, he’ll save himself a worst-case scenario. 

He grits his teeth as he pulls himself around the corner, his legs impossibly heavy and his grip on the wall clammy and unhelpful.  _ Just a little further,  _ he tells himself with certainty, as if he could will his body to continue onward by sheer force of determination.  _ Just a little further, and this will all be some distant memory, and nobody will ever have to _ —

Keito gasps before he can stop himself, sharp and far too loud, his eyes blown wide as a hot flash wracks his body like a surge of electricity. His knees wobble and then give out beneath him, his palm sliding against the wall as he descends, his other hand planted firmly upon the ground in a vain attempt to keep himself upright. A soft whimper presses at his lips as he feels his legs squeeze together far more now that he’s sitting instead of standing, the heat between them growing all the more intense.

His teeth dig into his bottom lip to bring himself back to reality, and he raises his hand, shakily, to join his other upon the wall in its efforts to pull himself back to his feet. There’s just no way that he’ll be able to get himself back up with so much pressure, he concludes after a few moments of pathetic attempts, and his shoulders slump in defeat. Hesitantly, and with limited options available to him, he draws one of his hands in, hoping that maybe he could ease himself enough to be able to walk just a bit further—

He clasps the hand that had still been upon the wall to his lips as quickly as he can manage, but the moan that he unwillingly uttered had been  _ loud,  _ more-so than he expected. He changes his mind immediately about trying to relieve some of the pressure, but his hand acts on its own as his mind’s control over his body grows weaker, and he moans hotly against the hand clamped over his lips as he palms himself through his uniform pants. A weak thought begs him to stop, but the pleasure it gives him is mind-numbing, and it overrides the disgust he feels at the wetness bleeding through the fabric. This was beyond embarrassing—this was  _ humiliating _ —if someone rounded the end of the hallway now, they’d see him crumpled on the floor, reduced to a sweating, trembling mess. 

His reputation would  _ never _ survive something like  _ that. _ As far as everybody knew, he was the stone-willed, Alpha Vice-President, a third year who was always calm and collected, and there’s no way that anybody could have imagined him otherwise. This is a secret that he’s not willing to share, not even willing to  _ think  _ about, but there are a lot of students in the idol course, and if even  _ one _ of them enters the hallway right now, they’ll see him in heat, and they’ll know that— 

A thick, musky scent hits him suddenly, and he wonders if it had just appeared, or if he’d simply not noticed it until now.  _ No,  _ he thinks after feeling just how strong it was,  _ there’s no way I wouldn’t have noticed that. _

Keito realizes in horror, after several moments of taking the scent in, that it wasn’t his own at all. It was far stronger, far  _ heavier,  _ and he knows all too well why. It’s the scent given off by Alphas when they catch whiff of an Omega stranded in heat—the scent that they give off to ward away other Alphas who might compete with them. A crippling anxiety settles on him upon realizing this; he knows that none of his classmates would intentionally harm him, but he also knows that Alphas lose control of themselves easily, and that they can prove to be dangerous when one has nothing to defend themselves with. He tries once more to pull himself to his feet, incredibly desperate now, but to no avail. His legs are shaking so badly that he couldn’t even crawl if he wanted to, and his stomach feels like it’s twisted into ten different knots. 

_ This is bad,  _ he repeats over and over in his head, unable to think of anything else but the steadily increasing panic.  _ This is bad. This is bad. This is really, really bad. _ In a final attempt to save himself at least  _ some _ of his dignity, he groans quietly as he forces his back against the wall, willing his hands to remain at his sides, tilting his head back and taking in a fresh gulp of air. His body feels sluggish to the point where he doubts he’ll be able to move himself again. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe slowly, bracing himself for whoever it was headed his way. He must have  _ some _ rational thought left, so if he could just negotiate with whomever was coming to leave him be and not speak a word about this to  _ anyone,  _ then—

“ _ Danna! _ ” 

Keito’s eyes snap open immediately. This is arguably both a really  _ good _ thing and a really  _ bad _ thing—good, because at least he  _ knows _ who it is, and he has no doubts that Kuro would be completely willing to help him out of this situation; bad, because before this moment Kuro had no idea he was not, in fact, an Alpha, and Kuro  _ is _ an Alpha, and Keito has no prior knowledge of whether or not Kuro has an inkling of self-control. Well, he supposes it’s better than being found by a kouhai, or, really, anyone else who isn’t Eichi. 

“…Danna?” Kuro’s expression melts from concern into confusion, his brows knitting together as he comes closer. 

Keito winces at the feeling of being seen in such a state, and unconsciously presses himself against the wall, trying to melt into it and disappear. Kuro hesitates, and Keito realizes that the other is trying to suppress his own scent (poorly, but, well, he’s  _ trying _ ) before he kneels down in front of Keito. If anything, at least  _ that’s  _ a relief; but, then again, if Kuro’s instincts are as bad as his are right now, he must be putting everything he has into keeping himself at bay. Was it easier for him because he was an Alpha? If so, Keito thinks bitterly, that is completely and absolutely  _ unfair, _ and he wants to have a little  _ talk _ with whatever divine force it was that decided this was a good idea. 

“I, uh,” Kuro clears his throat awkwardly, his train of thought hindered by the fact that he’s putting most of his efforts into shoving his instincts to the back of his mind. “Are you…? I thought—”

“Later,” Keito groans, loathing how breathy and desperate his voice sounded now, “I’ll—I’ll explain later, just…the infirmary.  _ Please. _ ” 

“Oh,” Kuro blinks, just as distant as Keito is, “uh, yeah. Sure. ‘Course. Should I, uh…is it fine if I…?” 

…Oh, right. Kuro taking him to the infirmary involves him picking Keito up, which involves him  _ touching _ Keito. Which, given the fact that both of them are on edge right now and on the verge of being overtaken by natural instinct,  _ may  _ not be the best idea. But, grudgingly, Keito comes to terms with the fact that it’s the only option he has left, other than waiting this out in the middle of the hallway, which he does  _ not  _ consider a viable option. He wants to apologize for putting Kuro in such an awkward position—undoubtedly, he must be uncomfortable as well—but, playing it on the safe side, he decides that he should only risk talking if he absolutely needs to, lest he sound humiliatingly uncomposed. 

“It’s  _ fine, _ ” he insists urgently, wanting nothing other than to find solace in the privacy of an infirmary bed and shut himself out from the rest of the world until this all went away. Having someone see him like this was already a crippling blow to his pride; he didn’t need to waste any more time so that Kuro could see him when the worst of the heat set in. “Just…just take me to the infirmary, and I’ll be  _ fine. _ ” 

Kuro’s lips part, as if to protest Keito’s request to just dump him into a bed and leave him there, but after taking a glance at the fierce look in Keito’s eyes, he decides against saying anything. He sighs quietly, bracing himself for the impact that’s undoubtedly going to come when he comes in contact with the other. Then, reassuring himself that he’d only have to deal with this for a few more minutes, he moves to pick Keito up. Keito jolts abruptly, as though Kuro’s touch had electrocuted him, and Kuro hesitates, clearly anxious that he’d somehow hurt the other. Keito wordlessly shakes his head and leans into Kuro’s hold, enough so that Kuro could (with great effort) lift him off of the floor and pull himself to his feet. Despite holding him in his arms, Kuro tries to at least, out of sympathy for Keito’s condition, hold him a short distance from himself to keep him from being smothered against his chest. He doesn’t know anything about dealing with heat, but he assumes that  _ more _ heat  _ probably  _ isn’t helpful. 

He looks down at where Keito had been sitting, his nose twitching at the overwhelming scent that had been slicked onto the wall and the floor, and feels a sharp pang of pity for the unfortunate janitor who would have to take care of it. 

“ _ Kiryuu, _ ” Keito hisses to draw his attention back, and Kuro’s stomach churns at the desperation in his voice.  _ Did you really have to say my name like that?  _ he wants to complain, but decides against it, focusing instead of swallowing back the lump in his throat and just getting Keito to the infirmary so that he could get as far away from him as possible, because  _ this _ was  _ not  _ easy to deal with. Could he fulfill Keito’s request? Yes, of  _ course _ he could. Was it  _ easy _ to do when his entire body was screaming at him to forget about? No, not in the slightest. But then he thinks about what would’ve happened if he’d not shown up at all, if someone  _ else _ had found Keito, and if they weren’t as willing to help him as he was, and—

The red hot anger that flares in his chest at the thought drives him forwards, and he praises the sheer force of rage for giving him the strength to reach the door of the infirmary. Whoever told him that anger didn’t solve anything was both an idiot, and probably dead right now. 

Keito heaves a sigh of relief when Kuro finally lowers him onto the nearest bed, feeling not at all less hot and sweaty, but the sudden assurance of privacy makes things a lot less stressful. Kuro yanks the curtain around the bed with such force that he almost tears the damn thing off of its holders; the thin barrier between them doesn’t do much to block Keito’s scent, but it’s better than nothing. Besides, he can’t possibly focus on figuring out where the hell Jin keeps the suppressants when  _ that’s  _ going on at the same time. He runs a hand through his hair, and has to keep himself from cursing aloud when he feels that his palm is clammy and warm; he may be able to keep himself at bay mentally, but physically, the situation’s already begun to take its toll on him. He moves to the other end of the room before it can  _ really _ start to get unbearable, and begins rummaging through the drawers. 

It’s all he can do to stop himself from practically crying with relief when he tears open the third drawer and finds the package. His hands shaking with urgency, he rips the cardboard entirely, tossing the other half of it aside, and looking into the small package to find—

“…You’ve gotta be _fuckin’_ _kiddin’ me,_ ” he hisses, exasperated, and throws the empty box to the side, his elbows falling onto the countertop as he buries his face in his hands. _God,_ it’s getting _way_ too hot in here. 

“…He’s  _ out, _ Danna,” Kuro groans, now at a complete loss as to what he’s supposed to do to help. 

Keito sighs miserably as he buries his face into the cheap pillow, squeezing his eyes shut and taking in slow, shaky breaths in a pitiful attempt to steady his heart rate. Of  _ course _ Jin was out of suppressants, of  _ course _ the stupid bastard forgot to resupply, that  _ lazy, good for nothing _ —

“Are—are y’gonna be okay?” Kuro asks quietly, turning to look at the curtain that shielded the bed from view. 

Keito really doesn’t know how to answer that. The only option he has left is to let it pass through him naturally, and, as torturous as it’ll be, it’s inevitable now. Unfortunately, that brings with it the risk of passing a heat improperly. He’d been told on numerous occasions that, in the event that he was left somewhere without any suppressants available, he  _ could  _ make it through a heat alone, but if he wasn’t properly relieved of it, then the effects on his health could be, at worst, dangerous. His foggy mind refuses to procure the exact details of those conversations, but basically, he knows that he’s taking a risk that he probably shouldn’t be right now. 

However, being properly assisted with passing his heat didn’t come without ramifications as well: if Kuro were a Beta, it would be bearable, but once an Alpha stakes a claim to an Omega, it’s as set in stone as a wedding vow, and, well, this  _ really  _ isn’t how Keito imagined being bound for life to somebody else— _ especially _ with Kuro. 

It wasn’t that Keito didn’t _want_ to be in that sort of relationship with the other, but it was more-so the current situation that held him back. He’d _wanted_ to show his interest in getting into a relationship with Kuro, but he’d wanted to do it _normally,_ in a way that was more, well… _not_ _this._ After all, it would be completely unfair to Kuro if he’d told him about everything _now,_ when Kuro would probably feel pressured to say yes because he knows that Keito is in need at the moment. Even when his mind is this hazy, Keito still finds the option of forcing Kuro into something he might not agree to normally less appealing than the option of endangering his own health. 

“Danna?” 

Keito, forgetting that there’s no way Kuro can read his mind and hear his inner monologue, realizes that he still hadn’t given the other any sort of verbal response. He swallows thickly, knuckles whitening as they grip the edge of the bed. 

“You can leave,” he says, hoarsely, his voice floating just above a whisper. But, somehow, Kuro hears it perfectly, and he moves closer, until he’s standing just outside the curtain. Kuro stares at the flat color for several moments, dazed, before words finally find their way to his lips again. 

“I don’t  _ wanna  _ leave,” he murmurs.

“ _ Kiryuu, _ ” Keito presses, and Kuro can hear the shuffling as Keito curls in on himself. “I’ll be  _ fine, _ you don’t have to take care of me. Just…you can go. Really.” 

“I mean it,” Kuro replies softly, but his voice is firm, held up by certainty. “I—I don’t wanna stay ‘cause I feel like I  _ hafta,  _ Danna, I…” 

Keito wonders whether or not the words falling short on the tip of Kuro’s tongue are the same words on his own. It feels as though some sort of unspoken communication is happening between them; some sort of connection between them, like some red string tied around their pinkies, linking them together. He slowly uncurls himself, pushing himself upright with strength he didn’t know he still had, and turns his torso enough so that he can look at Kuro’s shadow upon the curtain. His chest rises and falls with his labored breaths, and for several moments, that’s the only sound that is left in the room, echoed faintly by Kuro’s own breathing. 

“Are you—” Keito begins, and then pauses to clear his throat upon hearing how weak his voice sounded. “Are you trying to—are you trying to tell me that you…you  _ love _ me?  _ Now?   _ While we’re both like  _ this _ ?”  

Kuro worries his bottom lip, shoving his thumbs into his pockets and suddenly finds the pattern of the tiled floor incredibly intriguing. 

“…I guess I am,” he answers quietly. “I, uh. I…I kinda suck at romance. Sorry.” 

Keito’s breath stalls, his chest fluttering, and he stares with wide eyes at the shape of Kuro’s shadow against the curtain, his heartbeat thundering so loudly in his ears that he’s afraid he won’t be able to hear Kuro’s voice over it anymore. Kuro waits in silence for a response. 

“…Yeah,” Keito whispers, breathless. “You do.” 

Kuro’s lips quiver as he waits for something else to be said. The silence in the room is deafening, and it makes the hair on the back of his neck prickle, and he can’t  _ take _ it any longer, so his pale fingers tremble as they clutch around the fabric of the curtain. He doesn’t know whether the drumming in his ears is his own heart, or if it’s Keito’s. He pulls the curtain to the side, and Keito’s eyes meet his immediately, the light in his irises flickering like the soft oscillations of a lake’s surface after a rock had broken it. 

Keito moves suddenly, but Kuro is faster. 

Kuro’s lips are hot against his own, and the moment they touch, Keito’s mind flickers out like a light being switched off. With impressive strength, he all but throws himself off of the bed and into Kuro’s arms, relishing in the heat that’s practically radiating from the other’s body. Just a few minutes earlier, the thought of even more heat would make him feel faint, but now, he feels like he’ll die if he doesn’t smother himself in as much of Kuro as he can—his muscles feel like they’re all on fire all at once, his face flushed as Kuro’s scent crashes over him in waves. 

Kuro holds Keito tightly, posessively, and Keito tightens his arms around the back of Kuro’s neck in an attempt to somehow get even closer to him. They only break their kiss every few seconds to take in a gasp of air before sloppily returning to each other—the only thing that matters to either of them now. Kuro’s hands feel the shape of Keito’s waist through his uniform, and Keito melts against their heat. He unconsciously ruts against Kuro and moans against his lips when he feels how hard he is, finally pulling out of their kiss as his chest heaves to take in lost air. 

“ _ Kiryuu— _ ” he begins, but can say no more as Kuro roughly pins him back down onto the infirmary bed, the air that Keito had gotten back leaving him once more in a short, startled noise. His glasses clatter to the floor, and somewhere in the haze of his mind, he feels a horrible pang of despair as the noise hits his ears. 

A weak protest dies on his lips when he hears Kuro tearing his blazer, the metallic clang of a button on the floor piercing through the room. Keito decides, however, that it wasn’t worth the objection anyway—a ruined uniform was definitely worth the electrifying feeling of Kuro’s tongue hot on his collar, breath fanning over his neck like an animal ready to bite down for the kill. He grabs tight fistfuls of Kuro’s blazer as he squirms against his weight, soft gasps falling from his lips as Kuro sucks a bruise at the base of his neck. 

Kuro’s hands suddenly press harshly against his shoulders, and his arms fall back against the bed helplessly, where Kuro’s palms slide against his own and hold them firmly in place. Between Kuro’s hands, his knees, and the weight of his chest pressed against his own, Keito finds himself effectively trapped in place—not that he really  _ minds, _ because even though he isn’t  _ trying  _ to squirm so much, it’s rather inconvenient, and he doesn’t want  _ anything _ getting in their way right now. 

Kuro’s lips continue their assault on the side of Keito’s neck, and, despite being so overwhelming that Keito begins to feel dangerously light-headed, he instinctively cranes his neck to give him better access. Kuro’s hips press down onto his, and he sucks a fresh bruise on his neck, and Keito suddenly becomes afraid that he’s going to lose consciousness from how hot his body feels. 

“ _ Shit, _ ” Kuro groans, swiping his tongue across his lips, “you smell so _ good _ , Hasumi—”

A desperate whine tumbles from Keito’s quivering lips, and he realizes that he hasn’t been paying attention at all to how loud he’s been—but, really, neither of them care about that anymore. Kuro sounds  _ hungry, _ like a lion who’d finally caught a gazelle and was licking his lips in preparation for his feast. Keito whimpers as Kuro takes in his scent, as he presses so close to Keito that he feels like he’s going to suffocate, but it’s a stifling feeling that’s  _ good _ —so impossibly  _ good.  _

“Kiryuu,” he begs, struggling against the weight holding him in place. “Kiryuu, I— _ please,  _ I can’t—”

Kuro, upon remembering that there’s far more to Keito’s body than just the crook of his shoulder, tugs the already torn undershirt off of Keito and tosses it aside. Keito shivers with delight as the tight clothing is finally off of him, despite the fact that, really, he doesn’t feel any less hot and stuffy than before. Kuro sits up, and for a moment Keito is afraid he’s going to stop, but then he watches as Kuro peels his blazer and dress shirt off of him, damp with sweat, and throws them to the floor beside the bed. His hands grab the hem of his black undershirt and pull it up and over his head, folding over the flushed skin of his abs and sliding over his chest, and Keito, dizzy, wonders how the shirt had even fit him in the first place. 

The flat of Kuro’s palms glide over the jut of Keito’s collarbone, and his back arches into the touch when Kuro’s hands begin to burn a path down his chest. Keito opens his mouth to protest Kuro’s slow pace once more, but he instead surprises himself with a choked, exasperated cry as Kuro’s fingers close around his nipples. 

His hands fly to his face in a poor attempt at covering it, his cheeks flushed so darkly that it makes his fingers seem completely white in comparison. He squeezes his eyes shut when he can’t think of any other way to deal with the impossibly strong feeling pooling in his stomach, his lips fallen to take in as much air as he can to satisfy his depleting lungs, but despite every effort, he feels like a wound spring that’s only growing more tightly coiled. Kuro begins to roll his stiffened nipples between his fingers, his body lowering so that he can press his lips to Keito’s neck once more, and with the combined stimulation, Keito feels like there’s fire licking his skin. 

“Y’so cute,” Kuro pants against his throat, tugging a bit with his fingers and eliciting a hot, lengthy moan from Keito, as if to accentuate his point. Kuro’s lips hang open, breathing in the intoxicating musk of Keito’s scent. “ _ Fuck,  _ Hasumi, ‘ve always wanted t’do ya like this—”

Keito’s eyes blow wide as his entire body jolts, his voice hitching on a loud cry as stars paint his vision and dark spots blot around him. His orgasm hits him hard, and it feels like the spring inside him is both tightening and loosening all at once, and the air feels suddenly cool and all the more hot at the same time. The pleasure that shocks his body is so strong that he doesn’t even feel when Kuro’s palms flatten back against his chest, pulling himself back up from where he was leaning down against Keito and looking at him through wide eyes. 

Kuro glances down quickly, realizing that neither of them had removed the rest of their clothing yet, and swallows hard when he sees the fabric of Keito’s uniform pants practically soaked through. Lifting his gaze back to Keito’s half-lidded eyes, he brings his hands up and pushes Keito’s own hands away from his face (Keito whines weakly at this) so that he can burn the image of the other’s orgasmic expression into his memory. 

A thin layer of sweat reflects the light of the infirmary, and sticks his hair to his skin in a way that he’d certainly complain about if he were in his right mind. His wet lips hang open, eyes glazed over and tears streaking his cheeks—the trail of drool that clings to the corner of Keito’s lips, something so… _ unlike _ him, makes Kuro’s mouth dry. Unconsciously, he drags the pad of his thumb across Keito’s plush bottom lip, and then, overtaken by delight at the sight of it, leans down to kiss him sloppily. They’re both even further out of breath when Kuro pulls away, a thin string of drool connecting the tips of their tongues. 

“Already,” Kuro breathes in awe, blinking hard. “Did—did y’like it when I—when I was talkin’ ‘bout ya like that?” 

Kuro wonders if Keito had come down enough from his high to register what he’d been asked, but finds his question answered when Keito nods wordlessly, his breaths quick and shallow. He lifts his trembling hand, clasping his fingers around Kuro’s wrist, and leans his cheek into his palm. 

“Hurry,” Keito whispers, “ _ please. _ ” 

Kuro can’t remember the last time he’d moved so quickly. His hands drop from Keito’s face and immediately begin to work off his belt, which, after a few rather embarrassing moments of struggling with the damn thing, he finally yanks out of the loops of Keito’s uniform pants. He moves to throw it to the side, but then pauses, looks down at it intently, and decides that maybe it isn’t as annoying as it seems. 

“Are—” Keito murmurs quietly as Kuro places his exhausted arms over his head, beginning to loop the belt around his wrists. “Are you  _ serious _ right now, Kiryuu?” 

“ _ Hasumi, _ ” Kuro growls, “I’ve been waiting  _ all year  _ for this. Just—let me  _ have  _ this, will ya?” 

Keito sighs heavily, closing his eyes as he lets Kuro finish tightening the belt, his impatience steadily rising along with the temperature. 

“ _ Fine, _ ” he mutters, “just—hurry  _ up,  _ will you?” 

“You’re so  _ needy  _ like this,” Kuro grins down at him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Never thought I’d see the day Danna’s beggin’  _ me _ for somethin’.” 

Keito opens his mouth despite his mind being far too sluggish to come up with a witty comeback, but thankfully, is cut off before he can embarrass himself when Kuro begins to tug his pants off of him. Though he’s thankful to finally not feel the pressure of their restraints anymore, the fabric drags achingly slow against his erection as Kuro pulls it off, and he hisses quietly at how sensitive it is. He bites his lip to stop himself from audibly sighing with relief when he hears the sound of Kuro kicking off his own pants as well. 

Kuro places one hand beneath Keito’s thigh and pushes his leg up, pressing two fingers into him—or, well,  _ expecting  _ to have to press, but instead, they slide into Keito with ease. Keito makes a choked noise, and Kuro ignores it, slipping his fingers back out and holding them up, scissoring them apart and watching with awe as they connect with thin webs of slick. He probably should’ve expected as much, but he’s never really  _ done  _ this before, and this is… 

“ _ Shit, _ ” he whispers breathlessly, “you’re—you’re so fucking  _ wet,  _ Hasumi.” 

“ _ Hurry, _ ” Keito begs, his voice broken with desperation. 

“I’unno,” Kuro says quietly, still staring intently at his soaked fingers. “I kinda wanna eat you out.” 

“ _ Kiryuu! _ ” Keito yells sharply, feeling as though his lungs are going to collapse in on themselves if he waits any longer. 

“Okay,  _ okay, _ ” he sighs, placing both of his hands beneath Keito’s thighs and pushing them up. Keito’s thighs quiver with anticipation, and then, when he feels nothing, he cranes his neck to the side to try and glimpse at Kuro to see what he was waiting for. His lips fall open when he feels Kuro’s weight shift off of the bed as he kneels on the floor, pulling Keito closer to him by his thighs. 

“Th—that’s not what I—!” he begins to furiously reprimand the other for misunderstanding him, but his voice cracks as he feels Kuro’s tongue pressing against him, and any other words he had to say die on the tip of his tongue. A ragged moan makes its way from his throat, and despite his original intent being to just have Kuro get to the point already, his body says otherwise as his thighs instinctively press together against Kuro’s head, urging him to continue. Wet, sloppy sounds fill the empty room and cause Keito to squirm and writhe against the restraints on his wrists, trying to both get relief from Kuro’s tongue and shove himself closer to it at the same time. 

“ _ Kiryuu, _ ” he pleads, hot tears spilling onto his cheeks and burning the skin there as he desperately tries to control the coil in his stomach. “Kiryuu,  _ Kiryuu,  _ you— _ nnh!  _ You—you can’t—you  _ can’t _ —I’m—I’m going to come again,  _ Kiryuu _ —”

Kuro, clearly encouraged by this, continues on, his fingers digging into the softness of Keito’s thighs. He can feel Keito quivering around him, shaking and trembling like he’s about to unravel, and then a sob of ecstasy falls upon his ears as Keito comes for the second time, his flushed cock still untouched. Kuro laps up the excess slick from his orgasm, and finally pulls away from his place between Keito’s thighs, pulling himself to his feet so that he could look over at Keito’s expression. 

His eyes are closed and his chest heaves for air as he recovers from the intensity of his orgasm, cheeks wet with a mixture of tears and saliva stuck to the corners of his lips. Kuro wipes the slick from his chin with the back of his hand as he watches Keito’s eyelids pull themselves open with great effort, his body clearly exhausted, but his heat still not finished yet as Kuro glimpses at his flushed cock. Keito’s irises move to try and look at Kuro despite his vision being useless to him without his glasses and blurred with tears. Kuro feels his chest tighten suddenly, and he moves forwards, leaning down to cup Keito’s cheeks in his hands. 

“Y’okay?” he asks hoarsely, and Keito nods quietly. Kuro moves to kiss him, but Keito turns his head away from him, brows knitting together. 

“Don’t kiss me after  _ that, _ ” he groans, and Kuro can’t help but laugh at that, settling for a quick peck on the cheek instead. Keito sighs softly, and Kuro lifts his hands to undo the belt wrapped around Keito’s wrists, letting it fall off of the edge of the bed with a short clatter. He holds Keito’s hands in his own, bringing them to his lips to kiss his knuckles. 

“Should I keep going?” he whispers against his fingers, glancing at Keito. 

“…Just a little more,” he responds softly, moving his hands to cup Kuro’s face, his thumb brushing his cheek. Kuro nestles against it. “You’re still not done yet.” 

“It’s fine,” Kuro murmurs, “you’re what matters.” 

“Go ahead,” Keito nods, the corners of his lips tugging into a tired smile. “It’s almost over. I’m going to sleep for twelve hours.” 

“I’ll hold you,” Kuro insists immediately, holding the back of Keito’s hand as he kisses his palm. 

“Mm,” Keito hums in gratitude. “You can kiss me now.” 

Kuro does, far more slowly than before, his lips gentle and loving against Keito’s as he lines himself up and begins to slowly push himself into Keito. Keito moans softly against his lips, and Kuro, no longer having a sense of urgency, takes his time letting Keito adjust. He moves his lips slowly to kiss a feathery trail along Keito’s jaw, his hands moving to intertwine their fingers, and lets Keito squeeze his hands. Once they stay like this for a short while, Keito’s breath soft and short and accompanied by a small whimper every so often, Keito nods towards him. 

Kuro moves, and Keito releases something between a sigh and a mewl, pressing his palms against Kuro’s as his fingers squeeze around his hands. It still feels surreal, like a fantasy, but now in a much more  _ real _ way, because he can feel his mind clouded by sleepiness over the invasive heat now, and he can hear their hearts beating together, and he can remember clearly that he agreed to this not for relief, but because he  _ wanted  _ to—because he wanted Kuro like this. He becomes acutely aware of how overjoyed he feels that Kuro’s hands are holding his own now—of how the simplest things make his heart burst. 

“Are y’okay?” Kuro asks softly in concern as he pulls one hand away from Keito’s to brush away his tears with his thumb. “Am I hurtin’ ya?” 

Keito shakes his head, letting whatever amount of tears he had left leave him. His lips trembling with joy, he looks up at Kuro with deep affection in his gaze. 

“I love you,” he whispers. 

Kuro’s cheeks flush further at this, and he parts his lips, silent, trying to find words. When he can’t, he moves forwards again and catches Keito’s lips with his own once more, his hips falling out of rhythm as he loses his breath. Keito melts so deeply into their kiss that he almost doesn’t realize when Kuro finally reaches his orgasm, his voice stifled against Keito’s lips, his hand squeezing Keito’s hand. Gradually, they fall apart from each other, taking in slow, deep breaths. The room feels like the most tranquil place in the world suddenly, and the stifling heat that had smothered them before feels like a distant memory now. Keito yawns quietly. 

“Can you carry me a different bed?” 

Kuro laughs softly, knowing that would probably be for the best, and nods. He steals one more quick kiss from Keito’s reddened lips. 

“Anything for you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> hot take keito is adorable yall just have bad taste 
> 
> the title translates directly to "your body temperature" but it's also translated as "your heat" which i chose because i thought i was being clever. there's no deep meaning to it i literally just think im hilarious


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